When Our Jack Went to War

by Sandy McKay

  Money-wise Blighty is not so good. We can only draw sixpence a day wages when we’re in hospital, which doesn’t go far at all. Still, compared to the other chaps in here I have nothing to complain about. And, after looking at the latest ‘roll of honour’ I realise I have a mighty lot to be thankful for.

  Best regards,

  Jack

  North East Valley, Dunedin

  Dear Jack,

  I looked up Bath in the atlas yesterday. It took me ages to find because it’s such a small word. I only found it in the end because Ma thought it was near a place called Bristol.

  Oh, and guess what? Mrs J had Tom Sawyer in her bookcase and she is letting me borrow it. I’ve read the first chapter already and, you’re right, it’s a great story and gallops along at a good pace. I really like the part about the whitewashing. Thanks for recommending it.

  Lots of love,

  From Tom

  Hornchurch, England

  Dear Tom,

  I have been discharged from hospital now. They’ve given me fourteen days leave before I have to go back to Sling and then to France. I am staying in a village called Hornchurch, fourteen miles out of London.

  I guess I’m in two minds about going back. Part of me wants to make the most of my Blighty but the other part knows the lads need all the help they can get at the Front. And I wouldn’t feel right not pulling my weight.

  Besides, I think something important may be coming up. A big push, by the sounds of it. If that’s the case then they’re going to need all hands on deck to make it work. One thing’s for certain — we have to get it right this time because the ANZACs can’t go on losing good men. Not like they have these past few months.

  Fingers crossed, Tom. I may be home for Christmas after all. Let’s hope so.

  Missing you all like crazy.

  Lots of love,

  Jack

  Dear Jack,

  Yahoo, big brother! What a battle! What a victory!

  The Otago Daily Times was full of it. The attack at Broodseinde on 4th October has been hailed as a great success for the Allied forces. The headmaster read the news story out loud to everyone in assembly.

  He said that two Otago battalions were involved along with battalions from both Auckland and Wellington. When he said that, there was an almighty cheer. The whole hall erupted. Then he read out another bit that said ‘ANZACs fought like tigers’. And everyone cheered again.

  The paper said the Allied attack at Broodseinde was ‘Germany’s biggest ever defeat’.

  ‘Four ANZAC divisions attacked side by side, advancing up slopes armed with strong points.’ And the Germans were taken completely by surprise. The headmaster said the New Zealanders performed well and took all their objectives. He said when the British artillery erupted at dawn hundreds of Germans were slaughtered by the fire and the soldiers moved up the hillside with little enemy opposition. The best news is, the ANZACs have advanced the line by 1900 yards. We all went out to the rugby field and stepped the distance out, just to see how far it was. It’s a fair way, Jack. But not as far as you’d think.

  Anyway, the headmaster said it means the Allied powers can finally win the war.

  Yay, for that!

  Love from Tom

  Back in France again

  Dear Tom,

  It seems like everyone has been spurred on by the ANZAC attack on 4th October. Despite all the casualties they say it was an important strategic victory. I guess I’ll take their word for it. Nothing feels too much like victory here at the coalface, but that’s another story.

  Luckily our good reputation continues and the next step is to capture the nearby village. Let’s hope the Germans are in for another drubbing, that’s all I can say.

  Two days later — quick note to family

  Awaiting orders, camped out somewhere in France

  The weather has got worse since I last wrote. And the lads are concerned about the speed this attack has been put together. It all seems a bit rushed from our end but then we have to put our faith in those who are in charge. And we need to trust that they have some idea about what they’re doing.

  Fingers crossed, young Tom.

  Much love to you all,

  Jack.

  North East Valley, Dunedin

  Dear Jack,

  We are all so proud of you here in North East Valley.

  And we can’t wait for Christmas.

  Take care.

  Love from

  Tom

  Belgium

  October 11, 1917

  Dear Tom,

  Still here. Still in one piece. Can’t ask for more than that.

  Tonight we are making preparations for a major offensive. We arrived at this camp a few days ago. What can I say? It’s close to the trenches, near a small village in Belgium. This village is our ultimate target.

  Our orders are to lie low until 3pm and then move forward in artillery formation. It’s been decided. The second Otagos will go over the top in the first wave. I’m glad to be going first. Get it over with, eh.

  It beats waiting around. And if all goes well we should have captured those German trenches by midday. So long as the barrage is strong and the wire gets cut they say she’ll be ours for the taking. Let’s hope so.

  By the time you get this letter it should all be done and dusted. Mission accomplished.

  Keep your fingers crossed, young Tom. And maybe your toes as well.

  Best regards,

  Jack

  North East Valley, Dunedin

  Dear Jack,

  Last night I had a dream. I was at the Wellington Zoo. Everyone was there. You, me, Ma and Amy. Even Mrs J. And Uncle Cedric. Mr Kidd came too. He’d taken a week off work. I was allowed to ride the elephant first. I sat way up high above the whole world while everyone clapped and cheered from down below. We had ice cream for afters — with strawberries on top.

  But this morning, the telegram man came down our road on his bike. As soon as I saw him I knew what it was. So I closed my eyes tight and said the Lord’s Prayer. Twice!

  I never say the Lords’ Prayer normally, not even when we’re supposed to at school. But I did today. ‘Our father … Who art in heaven … Hallowed be thy name … Thy kingdom come … Thy will be done …’

  I said it as hard as I could.

  But all the time I was thinking about elephants, Jack. And you. I could see you with my own two eyes. Large as life and twice as handsome, as our Dad used to say.

  But when the telegram man slowed down I knew the Lord’s Prayer wouldn’t be enough.

  So I tried to make myself stop breathing because I thought, if I could only make myself go still, no one would have to die. Ever again. Ever, ever again. I held my breath until my heart was pounding in my ears. Like the sea.

  I could hear Ma in the wash house. Humming. She’d been happier lately. And she hadn’t stared out the window in days. Please God, I thought. Make him go away. Please … Please … Please …

  But the telegram man wouldn’t go away. He walked straight up to our door and knocked hard. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  ‘Is your Dad home?’ he said in a croaky voice. I could see his Adam’s apple wobbling in his throat.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘What about your Ma?’ he said.

  I shook my head. I plugged my fingers in my ears.

  I can’t remember what happened next.

  But somewhere in the house someone started to cry.

  British Army Field Hospital

  October, 1917

  Dear Mrs McAllister,

  It is my sad duty to inform you that your son, Private Jack Donald William McAllister, was killed in action at the Battle of Bellevue Spur on 12th October, 1917.

  The assault on the German positions occurred four miles east of Ypres and just west of the village of Passchendaele in Belgium. The 2nd Otago Battalion suffered grievous losses that morning and experienced desperate fighting, under the most intense machine-gun fire. Your son fought gallant
ly till the end and has fallen nobly. He has fought proudly for the King and Empire.

  Please accept my sincere condolences and deep personal sympathy. I hope you obtain some comfort in the knowledge that your son has responded bravely to the Call of Humanity, Freedom and Civilisation.

  Yours very sincerely,

  G. M. Bathgate

  Brigadier General

  Second NZ Brigade.

  Humanity … Freedom … Civilisation … Mrs J tossed her head back in disgust when she read that.

  ‘Is that what they’re calling it these days,’ she said. And when our Jacky tried to snuggle on her knee she pushed him straight off.

  Mrs J came over a lot that week. ‘Just to keep an eye on you all,’ she said.

  Everyone cried and cried and cried. This time I cried even more than Ma. I cried about everything. I cried because our Dad was dead. And now my brother was dead as well. I cried because the war was still going and no one was ever going to surrender. I cried because the whole world was fighting and now I wouldn’t get to ride an elephant.

  But mostly I cried because, without our Jack, life would never be the same again.

  I cried for two whole weeks without stopping. I heaved and sobbed until I nearly couldn’t breathe. No one could make me stop. Not even Mrs J.

  A few weeks later another letter arrived. It had a bright green stamp on it — a special wartime edition starring King George the Fifth.

  Dear Mrs McAllister,

  My name is Arnold Wilson and I was good cobbers with your son Jack.

  I am writing to let you know exactly what happened on October 12. I would like to give a true account because that is what you deserve. It’s what everyone deserves.

  The facts of the attack are as follows:

  October 11. The rain hadn’t stopped in more than a week. The place was a bog hole and the troops were in no fit state to fight. The barrage started at 5:25pm. At zero hour our orders were to crawl out to no-man’s-land. Jack and I were going ‘over the top’ first. We hadn’t had a wink of sleep and felt scared to death, both of us. Something wasn’t right and everyone knew it. For the first time we made out our wills before going into battle. There was a whole battalion in the first wave and we had ten minutes to get to no-man’s-land. This was an unreasonable request, even in good conditions. But in the army you do what you’re told. Our orders were to rush the first trench, kill or take prisoner everyone in it and then, after fifteen minutes, withdraw back to our line.

  That was the plan.

  We waited nervously, our stomachs tied in knots. Everyone smoked cigarettes, even those who didn’t smoke. When the guns lifted the sergeant called the order. Advance!

  Jack was with me but slightly ahead. With mud up to our shins we advanced as best we could up the hill. It was a long, slow slog. Jack was a fit man, as you know. Long-legged and strong. He forged on ahead. I followed close behind. But it was a struggle and I could feel myself floundering. I lost my boot at one point and had to stop. By this stage most of us were firing randomly. It was chaos.

  Men dropped like flies, while their mates forged on ahead. Some just yelled their heads off. It was madness.

  Most men were shot in their tracks. Some were killed by friendly fire. And those who made it to the wire didn’t stand a chance. They were in for a shock. The wire wasn’t cut and all our men were hung out to dry.

  They died in droves, that day. Like lambs to the slaughter, we didn’t stand a chance in hell. The whole Otago battalion was almost wiped out. Only 32 of us survived — 148 out of 180 were killed.

  I am sorry if this letter disturbs you, Mrs McAllister. But I wanted to tell you the truth. Your Jack was a good mate and if the boot was on the other foot I know he’d do the same.

  Your Jack always did his best. He went the extra mile. I’d like to tell you he died with no pain. But you don’t deserve to be lied to. Your Jack died doing his duty. Whether those generals did their duty by him is a different matter.

  Your family should be proud of Jack. He was a great soldier and a great mate. He was a bloke with a big heart and a head on his shoulders. He loved his family and talked about you often. He was serious about his work and would have made a fine carpenter. I am honoured to have known him.

  Best regards,

  Arnold Wilson (Stampy)

  Jack McAllister was a private in the 2nd Otago Battalion. He joined up when he was 18 and he was 19 when he died.

  He died at Passchendaele, along with many thousands of others. (Six per cent of New Zealand’s total casualties in the First World War occurred in just one morning of action on 12 October 1917.)

  By all accounts Jack and his mates didn’t stand a chance. The Germans knew they were coming and had a grand old time wiping them out. Nothing went right that day. Our artillery might as well not have been there. The mud was thick and deep and our artillery couldn’t move forward. Those who did get within range had no solid foundation from which to fire. The ground slipped below them. The New Zealand soldiers were picked off by enemy snipers quicker than you could say ‘Jack Robinson’.

  It was a bad time for New Zealand. Around 17,000 New Zealanders were killed in the First World War and another 41,000 were wounded. New Zealand’s population at that time was just over one million. Lots of boys were just like our Jack. They went away to war and never came back.

  Many of them lie buried at Tyne Cot cemetery in Belgium.

  The First World War ended just over a year later — on 11 November 1918 — when the Armistice (peace treaty) was signed.

  I guess you’re wondering what happened to the rest of us. To Ma and Amy and me. And Uncle Ced and Mrs J. Well, we cried a lot at the start. I was angry as heck. So was Ma.

  We wanted things to get back to normal but that would take a lot of time. Jack’s friend Stampy came to see us. He brought us letters and what was left of our Jack’s sketchbook. He brought Jack’s possessions home, which helped — a bit.

  We all went to Wellington in the end. We even had a ride on an elephant. It was Mrs Jenkins who made us go. One day she came over and Ma was lying in bed, staring at nothing and wondering what our world was coming to. And Mrs J said, ‘Come on, Jess.’ Then she flung back the curtains and said it was time for the grieving to stop.

  Of course, Ma wasn’t having a bar of it. She said, ‘What are you on about, Nola? This grieving will never stop.’

  And Mrs J rolled her eyes and sighed. Then she made Ma a cup of tea and sat on the edge of her bed. She held our Ma’s hand.

  ‘Do you want all this to be for nothing?’ she said.

  ‘Do I want all what to be for nothing?’ said Ma.

  ‘Your Jack’s death,’ said Mrs J.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ said Ma.

  Then Mrs J took a sip of tea. ‘Why do you think your Jack gave his life in the war?’ she said.

  Our Ma shrugged. ‘No one knows the answer to that,’ she said. ‘It was a bad idea from the start.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ Mrs J said. ‘But it’s done with now and there’s no changing it.’

  Ma shrugged and pushed her tea away.

  Mrs J was having none of it.

  ‘Go and get your glad rags on, Jess,’ she said.

  Mrs J folded her arms and waited. Ma didn’t have the energy to argue.

  ‘We’re off to Wellington on the 24th of June,’ said Mrs J. ‘I’ve made the booking and I’m not taking “no” for an answer.’

  Ma knew there was no point in arguing. Maybe she even knew that what Mrs J was saying was right.

  ‘You owe it to your Jack,’ said Mrs J. ‘We all do. If your Jack gave his life in the war then it’s our job to make it worth his while.’

  So that’s what we did.

  After the war they made a monument. It stood right in front of our school.

  Lest we forget, it said.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Amy asked.

  ‘It means we must never forget,’ said Mrs J.

 
‘Forget what?’ said Amy.

  ‘We must never forget what happened, when our Jack went to war.’

  Our Jack’s Will

  In the event of my death I bequeath all money in my paybook to my mother — Jessica Mary McAllister.

  I bequeath all my sketches to my sister, Amy.

  And I bequeath my carpenter’s nail bag to my brother, Thomas Andrew McAllister, in the hope that he puts it to good use.

  WHAT WAS IT?

  The First World War was a military conflict that began in 1914 and ended in 1918. It involved nearly all the world’s major powers. Partly for that reason, but also because of the very high death toll, it has been called the Great War and ‘the war to end all wars’.

  HOW DID IT START?

  War broke out when Austria declared war on Serbia after a Serbian terrorist assassinated Archduke Ferdinand of Austria on 28 June 1914.

  For years beforehand, countries in Europe had been forming alliances and building military arms and forces. This had led tensions to build up to the point where the assassination provided the trigger for war.